


In the Open

by MyOwnSuperintendent



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Episode: s04e20 Small Potatoes, F/M, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-03
Updated: 2017-09-03
Packaged: 2018-12-23 04:26:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11982108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyOwnSuperintendent/pseuds/MyOwnSuperintendent
Summary: After the events of "Small Potatoes," Mulder and Scully reflect.





	In the Open

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own The X-Files or anything related to it. Hope you enjoy!

It might be possible to feel stupider than she did, but right now, Scully wasn’t so sure.  She should have known.  She should have guessed at the very least.  She’d known Mulder for five years now, known him as closely as she knew anyone, and she should have been able to tell…

Well, she hadn’t been able to tell.  She hadn’t had any idea—or had she?  Maybe she’d let herself be lulled into believing, because she had thought that it seemed strange at first, when he’d showed up at her place.  Just dropping by to talk, with wine: that wasn’t something they did.  Yes, she had wondered what was going on, and then she’d decided to let it go and stop wondering.  She could tell herself that she’d believed it was Mulder because it was much more logical than any alternative, but she didn’t think that was the truth.  She thought that she had liked believing it.  She thought that she had wanted to believe it.

But of course she’d been wrong.  There she’d been, all ready to kiss him, she’d been thinking _finally, finally_ , and then the door had opened and she’d seen Mulder, and she’d known how very, very wrong she’d been.  He’d seen her too, of course.  That was the part that made her feel the stupidest of all.

They could always pretend.  They’d pretended before, and she imagined that they’d be able to pretend again soon enough, even if they’d barely looked at each other the rest of the night, occupying themselves with phone calls and statements and paperwork and everything that needed to be done to clear up the case.  Scully didn’t really like calling it pretending—didn’t like considering the contradiction hidden beneath their usual level of honesty with each other—but she guessed that was what it was.  _We’re partners, we’re friends,_ they told each other, _and we don’t think about being anything else._   Never in so many words, though, because that might tip the balance. 

She’d certainly done a hell of a lot to try to tip it last night.

She’d thought Mulder was trying too, though.  She’d thought that he was tired of waiting around too, that he thought that maybe it was time.  She’d liked the way he was looking at her, and it made her feel sick, now, to realize that it had never been him looking at her at all.  It hadn’t been him almost kissing her, either, and she didn’t like to think about what would have happened if they hadn’t been stopped in time.  She wasn’t sure how far she would have taken things, but if she was being honest with herself, she thought she would have taken them pretty far.  She’d wanted him, and she’d known that she might not have as much time as she would like (she’d wondered if he was thinking about that too, then decided she didn’t care).  So really she should have been glad that Mulder came in and saw them, she thought.  She felt stupid now, but she could have felt a lot worse.

That was all true, but it didn’t make her feel any better.  She wasn’t any happier about the way it was out in the open now: the way Mulder knew that she’d be willing to kiss him, so very willing that she’d jump at what she thought was the chance.  It wasn’t exactly easy, now, to pretend that he didn’t know or that she was so good at hiding what she felt.  And if there was some part of him that wanted it too, she guessed he didn’t want it enough to take a chance, because if there was ever an opportunity for saying something or doing something she had presented him with it now, and he had very determinedly chosen not to take it.  She could understand that.  Sometimes, most of the time, she thought that it was better not to take that chance too.  But knowing he felt that way didn’t make her feel any less stupid.

She’d feel more like herself soon, she was sure.  She’d been through much, much worse things, and it would be silly to think that this would be the one to break her down.  Right now, though, Scully felt almost like she’d been rejected, even though she knew that wasn’t what had happened at all.  But there she’d been, thinking that he wanted to kiss her, thinking that he wanted things to be more intimate between them, and then—just when it all seemed to be starting—finding out that none of that was true.

 

He should stop thinking about what he’d seen, maybe, but right now, Mulder couldn’t.  It had been a very strange thing to see.  He’d imagined himself kissing Scully before, so that part wasn’t entirely strange, but then when he imagined it he was himself and involved in it, not just watching himself from the doorway, and it wasn’t complicated or uncomfortable, and he knew what to do afterwards, which he didn’t now, not in the slightest.

It hadn’t been him she was about to kiss.  He’d seen her statement, so he knew roughly how things had come about: that Van Blundht had pretended to be him, coming over and bringing wine and saying that he wanted to really talk.  Scully had liked that, he guessed.  He couldn’t blame her.  It did sound nice. 

It sounded nice, and it didn’t sound like something they usually did.  There was a part of him that was frustrated with her for being taken in; she ought to be able to recognize him by this time, he thought, and to be more open to extreme explanations of things that seemed off.  Maybe he wasn’t being fair, though.  Maybe it was just easier to think about being frustrated with her than about being frustrated with himself.  Because an evening like that…maybe it was something they should have done, even if they usually didn’t.  There always seemed to be other, more pressing things going on—investigations and debates and dangers—but with the way he felt about her, he should have done something like that.  He should have spent an evening with her, just the two of them, with wine and music and quiet talk.  And, if she’d wanted it too, he should have kissed her.

Well, he couldn’t exactly claim now that she didn’t want it.  She’d been about to kiss him—or not him, but she hadn’t known that—and it seemed like that should make things easier, clearer, but somehow it didn’t at all.  Maybe she’d only wanted to take that step because of the way Van Blundht had acted, because he’d come to spend the evening with her in a way that Mulder himself never did.  And if he tried to do something like that now, when they both knew what had happened, it would feel…well, wrong somehow.  Like a cheap ploy.  Not what Scully deserved.  If he were going to kiss her, now, he’d want the moment to be different from the scene he’d witnessed, but he’d still want it to be special and just for the two of them.  Not like every other day when they were arguing about theories and yet still something that reflected who they were to each other.

It was a tall order, he knew.

But if Scully wanted something special too, he wanted to give it to her.  He wasn’t sure what she wanted now, though.  He hadn’t known what to say when he’d burst in last night.  _Maybe it’s finally time to broach the subject_ , he’d thought, _get it all the way out in the open._   He’d refrained, though.  The last thing he’d wanted had been to make her feel more uncomfortable than she’d clearly felt already.  She’d avoided his eyes all night, and she hadn’t said anything that she didn’t need to say, that wasn’t part of the practical measures for clearing the case up.  Not that he’d been a lot better.  But if she just wanted to forget about it all, who was he to say that they shouldn’t?  Of course he wanted to be with her; that was a fundamental truth by now, but it wasn’t the only one or the most important one.  Even more, he wanted what they already had: that unshakeable trust and support.  He wanted her to have his back, and he wanted to have hers.  He wanted her to know that he would fight for her.  Always.  Especially now.  Maybe it wouldn’t be fair or right to push this.

He’d let things be as they were, if he had to.  It wasn’t as though Mulder disliked things that way.  Most of the time he only thought about the good side, about how lucky he was to have Scully in his life in any form.  But seeing what he’d seen…that did make it more difficult.  It did make it easier to fall into thoughts of what it would be like if it really were the two of them, if he pulled her close and their lips met and they both knew that it was right.


End file.
